


have you ever felt it, though?

by rickstheraven



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, but not everyone has tumblr, i like angst, i posted these on tumblr, mostly angst, one shots, so feel free to leave comments and reviews, toxic relationship with angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickstheraven/pseuds/rickstheraven
Summary: a collection of Varchie one shots and drabbles that I've posted on Tumblr. More to come.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, the summary says it all, so nothing to say here I guess. But y'all, the Love To Remember sequel will be out by next week! Find me on tumblr now as @rickstheraven

_stars across the skin of your face._

 

She wakes up suddenly, her eyelids fluttering open and she doesn’t recoil from the bright warm glare of the room. It surprises her, really, as she usually would groan aloud from how the rays of sunlight would sting her eyes. But this time, it doesn’t.

She turns around to find him sleeping soundly, one side of his big face plastered to the pillow they were sharing. Her heart swells at the sight before her, and she feels like her chest is full of helium as she props herself up on her elbows to look at the boy beside her.

He was drooling slightly, and at first, it might seem ridiculous, but she thinks it’s adorable once she’s grown familiar with him sleeping beside her. She pulls the covers and wipes it lightly on the corner of his mouth, scrunching her nose as she tried to force down her giggle. He shifts, which makes her go still at the act, but he doesn’t wake up and continues to slumber deeply, his throat rumbling as he snores on lightly. She blows a breath and tilts her head, her eyes lightly travelling over his face adorned with freckles like star splattered and strewn across the night sky she so loves to see. She could connect the red dots like she would do to the stars, and make a new constellation herself. One that she would see every time if she was to ever look at the Milky Way again, but come to think of it. She sees something better every day.

His red hair was messy and all over the pillow, but she’s not going to complain as it strikes a resemblance to the Crab Nebula she saw last January, the red streaks a magnificent beauty, shining fierily amidst the vast expanse of the darkness. She had wanted to touch the nebulas for almost all her life, but she guessed she never knew that she runs her finger through one every night.

The lines of his face was sharp and jutted, like a face carved and chiseled by a person who has seen true beauty, or perhaps, God himself. Or perhaps, the beginning of the universe, or even the wild space itself. He wasn’t like the Roman gods that people liked to compare in their love stories, he wasn’t like Adonis as his fans would call him, he wasn’t “smol” as some people on Tumblr would describe men like him.

He was Archie Andrews, and that was more than enough for her.


	2. Chapter 2

_you mean all the gold and world to me_

 

He’s awake and he already feels it. The pressure on the mattress to his left side, the soft steady breathing. He doesn’t need to turn his face around and open his eyes to the bright light that was already glaring through his closed eyelids. But if he would, he would see heaven. He would see everything he wanted to see, feel what his imagination could reach. The tranquility that flows through him, avoid of the normally chippering birds he hears in the morning, spreads through the tips of his toes merely because of her presence, he knows. Imagining when his eyes were closed wasn’t enough, he also knows. So he turns around, rustling the pillow softly and open his eyes.

Not what he had anticipated, he was attack by the bright sunlight causing him to groan and his hand to jump to cover his now forced shut eyes. But once the pain vanishes and his eyes adjusted, he opens it slowly. Her bare back was facing him, and hee hopes he didn’t wake her up as she stirs around.

Breathing out a relieved sigh when she continues to sleep on, he observes her golden skin, eyes tracing the dip of her shoulders up to her nape where the glorious sight disappears into her shining raven hair that was splayed all over the pillow.

There are many things he could’ve likened it to, since he spent so many years traveling the world during his album tour. The shade of the Santorini sky during sunset, the dying lights turning the clouds a golden streak across the atmosphere her skin. The glistening slumbering Mediterranean Sea at 8 pm her deep steady breaths. The clouds littered over the atmosphere like paint thrown haphazardly over a blue canvas her hair splayed messily across the soft material. The pastel whites of Greek buildings turned bright and glaring due to the orange sky like her skin contrasting with the white sheets covering her.

He would’ve continued, would’ve racked his brains for more scenery to compare, but the sheets rustles and she turns around, facing him. A sharp breath intake and the steady breathing resumes through the small slit of her lips, her cheeks puffy as she blows out.

Her sleeping is one of his favorite sights. One side of her face marked lightly by the pillow, her cheeks puffy and bee stung lips slightly swollen from remaining open for most of the night. And he stares at it all, because it’s all he could do as he envisions a miracle. A wonder. A mystery. An aesthetic. The curves of her jaw skillfully chiseled by someone who has seen perfection. The plump lips a blessing like as if he didn’t know what a blessing was before he had capture her lips with his, before he had experience such a sensation that leaves him breathless always. Her long dark eyelashes an aesthetic similar to the satellite snapshots of the Grand Canyon, the complexity and the beauty it exhibits.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath the whole time in an effort not to disturb her peaceful sleep, but his head was starting to swim from the lack of fresh air, and it might’ve been nice to pass out watching her face. But he blows out softly, the warm air rustling her the stray strand of her hair across her face.

She scrunches her nose and he hopes it wasn’t his morning breath that woke her up. She stirs a couple times and he knows she’s awake once he sees the slight smile and frown grow on her face.

“Archie, I’m not going to give you a morning kiss until you brush your teeth,” she mutters softly, eyes still closed, her cheeks still puffy and he wonders how she manages to look as perfect as always as he chuckles.

Her dark lashes flutter as she opens her doe eyes and looks at him with the glassy orbs of the midnight sky. They were brighter than the brightest star. He has never seen anything quite like it, but he also feels like he’s seen it. The Milky Way, The Pleiades, The Virgo Constellation, and many countless other wonders of space. Or it could’ve been the full moon shining on a reflective lake, or the phosphorous beach in Thailand, the ones that light up at night with the waves glowingly crashing around his feet, or the glowworm cave in New Zealand with all its glory and luminance. And it never ceases to surprise him, how her eyes always take him on adventure, take him so high that he’s breaking the sky limit. That he’s touching the untouchable. That he’s feeling the unperceivable. Like now, as he rides a roller coaster revisiting the mentioned illuminant memories.

And come to think of it, he’s been likening all of her to the places he’s been around the world. And it’s just like as it is, she was the world.

“Ronnie,” he whispers softly.

While it may seem a nickname, it meant the world to him. Veronica meant the world to him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_the sky is dark (and so is our life)_

 

 

He drinks it all in. As much as he can, as much as time would allow. And as long as the world would continue to spin but not tip on its axis.

But his world already came crashing down this morning, as the judge sentences him to prison for life. He could see fire light up as the gavel resonates around the room. He could feel his bones shatter as he hears his mother whimpers. He could feel his mouth quiver as he heard his father sigh shakily. He could feel his head exploding as he heard Jughead and Betty’s protest.

He could feel his heart break as he heard Veronica’s words.

“Stay strong, Archie.”

Her voice were to the point of breaking, but he knows she’s trying to be strong for him.

So he’s going to be strong for her as well, he tells himself as he runs a finger through her raven hair glistening with sweat from the flickering fireplace in the Andrew’s living room.

And so he tries to remember as much of her as he can. He memorizes the details of her soft delicate lips. He memorizes the feel of them as they grazed across his neck. He memorizes her long lashes that flutters at him. He memorizes her eyes, orbs like stars to wish and hope upon in the darkest of nights. He memorizes her fingers, her touch, and everything that he could so he’d see her everywhere. Because tomorrow, he’ll be alone in the cold cell of Shankshaw. He’ll be the fireplace left unattended, because Veronica was his fuel and wood, and he was the dying embers left to smolder.

He’ll have to burn on without her.

“I’m sorry, Archie,” she whispers, her voice quivering.

“I’m sorry too,” he whispers her, pressing a kiss on her forehead.

He could feel her hot stinging tears on his neck, and despite his promise to be strong for her, he couldn’t stop the tears either.

It was all he could do, as he cried and held her like his lifeline.

As he held her for what could possibly be the last time.

 

* * *

 

The cold wind stings her cheek, especially the tracks where tears have fallen.

She’d just seen Archie being lead into prison. She’d just seen his face before he disappears around the corner. She’d just kissed him one last time.

His broken façade was imprinted against her blank staring eyes, and the feeling of his lips linger on hers, tinge with the burning regret and desperation.

She’s cried enough tears, she thinks. It’s time to fight, she thinks.

She asks Fred to drop her at the Pembrooke despite his protests. She can’t face the Andrews home without Archie in it, but she also wants to face her father before declaring war, as stupid as it sounds.

They say emotions cloud visions, and they were never the perfect weapons for a war, and Veronica very well knows. But how else did Commander Jack Croasdaile survive his captivity, if not by remembering his dead family? How else did the Horsemen defy the odds by completing their mission without losing a single member, if not by dreaming of going home to their loved ones?

Hiram is a general, he can be stone cold and lifeless, because he’s not laying down his life for anyone. He doesn’t need the emotion to drive himself.

 But she was going to a be soldier and a leader this time, because she’s willing to lose everything for the one person she loves so much it hurts her.

Will and love is what she’ll charge this emotional cavalry with. Love trumps all. Will conquers all.

So she says to her father’s harsh lined face, in the dimly lit office of his, “We’ll survive whatever you have planned for us, because we are _endgame_.”

She shouldn’t have ignore the gloating smile as she turns around to leave.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, she’s numb coming home. The cold was getting worst as ever, almost feeling like icicle needles penetrating the little of her exposed skin.

Her cheek was parched and dry, and her lips hasn’t stop quivering.

The dam bursts open and she’s sinking to the floor, crying from the defeat she feels all over her body like actual bruises.

Defeat. Not because she gave up. But because Archie gave up.

They made a promise to fight for each other, vowed to protect one another every way possible.

_Words are wind, and wind always blows_. Her father had told her when she was younger, and how ironic it seems to come back from a thousand years ago to bite her.

But she can’t honestly blame Archie, she just can’t. He’s being constantly bruised and battered every single day by the Ghoulies. He’s being tormented by the limited solitude space every hour of the day.

She doesn’t blame him for giving up on them. She blames herself for not fighting enough.

And who was she kidding? Being all bold and serious two weeks ago, blinded by emotions, blinded by the fantasy of reuniting with her man. She lived in the real world, yet she chose to underestimate it.

Happy endings don’t exist. Fairy tales have a reason that they’re called tales.

So she screams and bangs at the wall that was his, letting all the frustration out in ways she never could.

“God damn it, God damn it, God damn it!”

Her hands are bleeding and sore but she doesn’t mind. The pain was nothing compared to what she’s feeling inside. What she still hadn’t vented out, and what she never could.

Because if she were to spill all her pain and anger, she’d have to tear the world down.

Her hand travels up to wipe her tears as she whimpers a defeated, “ _Why_?”

 

* * *

 

He gasps as he wipes a dirty cloth over the cut on his bicep, thanks to Iron Giant. It was stinging, but he bears it as he wipes the wound clean. It wasn’t hygienic, as Betty would’ve said. But he’d have to make do with what he gets.

Sighing heavily, he throws the cloth over to the stainless steel sink in the corner and leans his head back on the cold wall of his cell. He wishes he has his guitar so he could kill time, or more accurately, anything that could make him forget about her.

Anything that could make him forget her tear-stricken face.

His lips starts to tremble and he could feel all the emotion boiling up, but he was interrupted as a guard approaches his cell.

“What?” Archie asks him.

“A package for you,” the guard says boringly and places a brown package on the tray before walking away, leaving Archie staring at his delivery confusingly.

He grabs it, and runs his finger over the package, realizing there was a bottle in it. He tears open and pulls out an El Dorado rum bottle.

His hands shakes as he knows the brand was the only one person’s favorite, and as a note flutter down from the empty package, it confirms for him.

The rum still gripped unnaturally tightly in his right hand, he picks up the slip and reads the note.

 

Good job. Here’s a toast

 – H.L.

 

He crumples the note immediately, his body shaking uncontrollably.

He feels anger, boiling unchecked anger. Unravelling hate growing inside him at the words now erased and torn in his hands. It’s not good for him, it never was. He’s paying the consequences for it, he knows.

But he’s never going to learn.

He chucks the bottle as hard as he can across the cell, with a scream loud enough to rattle the rest of the prison. The bottle shatters against the cold metal bars with a loud bang, glass spreading everywhere and the liquid splashes, accompanied by a loud siren that whistles through the building.

A commotion of emotions and movement as armed guards poured into his cell. In a flash, the mess was cleaned and he was handcuffed, then was led to another room where he was beaten once, twice, thrice by irritated guards.

Bruises and wounds he slept with the following night, but it was nothing, nothing compared to the pain inside him, to the level he almost doesn’t feel anything physically, like his skin was past the point to sense or feel.

But it hurts on the inside, as he slept in an awkward position, his hand cuffed with a long chain coming from the floor.

He doesn’t know if Hiram would keep his promise. He doesn’t know if he’d stop hurting her.

But he said he would if Archie were to break up with the one he promised not to.

And so he did what he could. It was selfish of him, sure.

But he knows what she’d have said if she knows why.

“It’s not wrong to be selfish, Archie,” he can almost hear her soft voice that always make him think he’s hearing the sounds of heaven.

Almost.

“But not at the cost of your life,” he whispers shakily to the silent night.

But all he could remember was her defeated face. Her shoulders sagged as she got up without a word and left the meeting area. She hadn’t even pressed her hand against the glass for him. He couldn’t get a glimpse of her eyes he so loved to stare one more time.

His hand strains against the cuff because he wants to punch the walls, the floor, himself, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t pour out his regret and anger that way for the moment.

All the promises, all the words about a week ago mean nothing now. He hurt her, he knows. He hurt her badly, and he hurt himself along the way as well.  

There’s probably no coming back from this.

There never was.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Ronnie,” he cries, and cries.

The musty hard pillow is already wet, and he needs a change. But he doesn’t bother to ask for one as the tears continue to spill relentlessly, the pain continues to flow inside him. He tries to remember her eyes, the orbs like the midnight sky and stars he hopes upon.

But the sky outside was dark and cloudy itself. No light to be seen, just blackness.

Unending veil of impenetrable blackness.

And he cries, because it’s all he could do for now.


	4. Chapter 4

_Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars_

 

He can’t believe his ears. He can’t think straight.

And before he can comprehend all of it, he’s lead out of his cell. Hand cuffs released in a flash, and he hasn’t even felt the red marks on his skin and he’s shoved out of the prison building by bored looking guards.

The sun hits him bright and hard. It’s not like he hasn’t seen the sun at all during the times he’s spent in prison, but it feels different. The warmth feels warm without a tinge of a coming rain. The brightness feels like it isn’t going to be cloudy soon.

And then he sees his parents standing in the parking lot. Suddenly, he doesn’t need to catch up to the surroundings. He does not need to ask _why, where, what_ as his feet propels him forward. And he doesn’t care about anything else as his heart longs to reach for what was in front of him. It feels like he’s a passenger as his body drives him where he belongs.

And he just cries as he sink into the familiar warmth of his parent’s arms.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t expect her to be there, honestly. He shouldn’t, and he’s the one who’s let her go. So he smiles as wide as he can to everyone sitting here and there in his house, for now.

Betty envelopes him for a long time, crying into his shirt and saying that she’s missed him. And he’s missed her too. The vanilla scent of her blonde hair, the familiarity he’s felt ever since 4 years old.

Jughead hugs him next, and no words were exchanged between the both of them. Despite Jughead’s way with words, he couldn’t say a thing. And he didn’t need him to. Archie felt everything his brother wanted to tell him, all through the hug that was silent. They break apart after a while and Jughead tells him with red eyes that he’s going to have to complete the nuclear mission on Black Ops 2 with him soon.

Josie and the Pussycats crowd around him, giving him fleeting kisses and quick hugs that means a lot to him. Kevin, Moose and most of the basketball team chants a welcome song (Reggie was sick, as he said).

Everyone laughs and jokes, and he feels happy for the moment. His smile is so wide it almost hurts.

And the slight pain is what reminds him of things he’s left unattended. He excuses himself for the bathroom so people won’t see his smile drop

And now he can’t get rid of Veronica’s face from his eyes as he locks himself in the bathroom next to the kitchen with a shuddering breath.

 

* * *

 

He should go and see her at least, he thinks. It was the first day of September, and school was about to open soon. Within 3 days, to be exact. And he won’t be able to avoid her in the corridors, so he’d rather have an encounter somewhere in Pop’s, abide prying eyes and gossips.

And it seems that everyone in town knows they’re broken up. Her absence at the welcome back party was notable.

There was no reason for her to be there. It wasn’t her fight, because she gave up when he gave up on them. When he gave up for her sake. For her safety. For her life. He got bailed thanks to his mother extending Veronica’s files and cases she’s left bare and all over the floor the night he broke the news.

He hasn’t seen Hiram since, and he also wonders whether it was all part of a ploy or play the man is scheming, but he can’t bring himself to think of the person he hates so much. The person he hates with all the hatred in his life that anything in his hands break at the thought of him. So he’s controlled himself not to snap around bigger cellmates, not to let his mind wander to Hiram Lodge’s gloating smile.

He’s done well, he knows. It was hard, sleeping through the pain. He thought he wasn’t going to see the wide blue sky ever again every night the curfew rings. He thought he wasn’t going to breathe the cold air of January ever again every time the cold water of his desolate prison hits his skin. He thought he wasn’t going to eat a decent meal as he played with the soggy vegetables in his plate.

But it was over, despite how dark the days seemed. It was over, and he’s going to start anew.

He’s going to pour everything he’s got into the new ride up. Into the new ascend into the light.

 

And so he approaches Pop’s late at night, because there was nowhere better to start fresh with her.

Jughead’s told him reluctantly that her speakeasy was closed tonight, but she’ll be serving her night shift. The bells tinkling alerts Pops, as he pushes open the door. The old man’s face breaks into such a wide smile that Archie’s heart bloats. They share a hug over the counter, Pop muttering incoherent words of how happy he’s having the red head resident back in his premises.

And he looks around to find Veronica in her yellow uniform serving the customers at the end of the restaurant, looking the same as ever. But she’s also more beautiful than ever, and it never ceases to surprise him. She was a living miracle. He thinks about the words he’d say to her, and he’ll choose them carefully. He knows he’s going to tell her everything all the same. And he hopes she’ll understand. She would, she’d always. A slap or two he’ll get if he’s lucky

A silent treatment.

A shout down in the middle of Pop’s

A breakdown.

Anything was possible, but he knows they were meant to be together.

And as he stands to approach her, Reggie comes out of the bathroom, his hair slicked back. Archie makes to wave at his friend, who was supposed to be sick.

But Reggie doesn’t notice him. He stops abruptly as he watched Reggie approach Veronica sneakily from behind. A sudden urge to jump and protect his girl from Reggie’s whatever intentions runs through him, but he hasn’t taken a step as he watched Veronica being spun around by Reggie with a yelp.

 

A yelp that isn’t a genuine surprise, or a cry for help.

 

The ones she makes when he’d scared her what feels like a thousand years ago.

 

He takes a step back.

 

Veronica looks at Reggie with her big doe eyes, and it shines bright and clear even from far away. A playful smile was on her face.

 

Archie wants to vomit.

 

And she then kisses Reggie slow and tentative.

 

He wants to run, but he can’t move.

 

It’s like he’s meant to watch, and he shall not disobey what the universe has written for him

 

Reggie pulls a giggling Veronica into the corridor that would lead down to the speakeasy.

And he doesn’t know why he’d do it, but his feet leads him there. He follows them, even though the insides are screaming and tearing itself apart. He walks down the steps with light quick feet even though his heart feels heavy.

The door at the end of the steps was closed, and for sure, locked. And he didn’t need to press his ear against it to hear her moaning breaths.

 

The sounds he knows so well that he could see it against his eyes even now.

 

He takes a step back.

 

Another one.

 

And before he knows it, he’s out running into the night.

 

It hurts like never before. It hurts on such an unreal level.

 

His tears fly behind him as the cold wind stings his cheek. His cries were lost to the wind. The ache in his heart was unperceivable because it was beating so fast, and maybe it’s too damaged to be felt.

 

And he was lost. And maybe he wishes he were.

 

He wishes he doesn’t have to wake up until September ends.

 

Until the pain ends.

 

Until it all ends.

 

 

 

 


End file.
